


negotiation

by tinyduck



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - College/University, DFAB reader, F/M, One Night Stand, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Squirting, atsumu needs to learn to shut up sometimes when he's dicking down, but it is consensual!!!, sex under the influence, vague lacrosse slander sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyduck/pseuds/tinyduck
Summary: “Do you ever stop talking?”His shit-eating grin is masked, and his voice is muffled, but you still make out, “I thought people liked feedback.”“Yeah, feedback, not hosting your own running commentary like you’re close-captioning a porno.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 134





	negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> All I wanted was to write Atsumu banter, and then I remembered I also wanted to write Atsumu smut so here, have this monster hybrid. 
> 
> Vaguely inspired by and not even remotely related to the classic 1999 movie She's All That. Is there one tiny reference to it? Maybe. Also, which Haikyuu character would play Zack or Dean and why is it Miya Atsumu for **both** roles.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The joke is that Atsumu goes for jersey chasers because his ego is too fragile to handle anything less than pure adoration.

The punchline is the person he actually gets has a mean streak a mile wide.

It looks that way to him, at least. He meets you at a party because where else would he, and he doesn’t even notice you at first. The thing that draws his attention is one of the lacrosse bros talking loudly, words a little slurred, arms and hands gesticulating just a _little_ too much. This man is still wearing double popped polos unironically, his backwards baseball cap skewed a little to the side and it’s enough to make Atsumu curl a lip in disgust. The only thing worse than a lacrosse bro is a lacrosse bro drinking volleyball team bought beer, smoking volleyball team supplied weed, and hitting on volleyball team intended prospects.

Atsumu can see the steady flush on Kyle or Blake or Chaz’s cheeks from a mile away, and the closer he gets the more apparent the sweaty stick of hair along the back of this guy’s neck is. He’s shaking the Rolex on his wrist like he can actually tell time, and practically leering at the small gaggle of people in front of him. Atsumu’s about five steps away when he hears lacrosse boy speak clearly, the drawl in his voice irritating Atsumu further because he’s just that petty.

“Aw, sweetheart. Did you tell _all_ your friends I’m a fuckboy?”

Atsumu’s got one hand lifting, ready to clap it on buddy’s shoulder to accompany the ‘friendly’ “I think you should leave, man” when you speak.

“You’re not a fuckboy.” 

Your face? Impassive. Your delivery? Flawless. You look and sound completely apathetic, taking a casual sip from the solo cup in your hand. Atsumu’s used to coy flirting, girlish whining, the occasional (maybe more often than he’d admit) shrieking, punctuated with a few choked off sobs. He’s been called every single name under the sun, some good, some bad, most of them ugly, so it intrigues him that you’re staring at this man (relationship unclear but if lacrosse boy’s leer is anything to go by he _thinks_ he gets the gist of it), completely unbothered even as he leans a little closer. 

‘You’re not a fuckboy’? 

Atsumu looks at the double polos again and snorts. Unfathomable. 

“Oh? I’m not, huh?” Kyle/Blake/Chas is aiming at sultry, face drifting near yours as he flicks his eyes from your gaze to your mouth and back again. You don’t even flinch, don’t try to back away, just coolly hold your ground as you say as dry as you can,

“It’s not a compliment.”

Now Atsumu’s more than a little intrigued. He crosses his arms, a slow grin spreading across his face as he watches it unfold. It looks like Kyle/Blake/…oh fuck it, ‘Kyle’ is thinking along the same lines, because he has the audacity to reach out and stroke a knuckle along your cheek.

“If I’m not a fuckboy, then what am I?”

Your friends on either side look equally repulsed and amused, one of them idly sipping at her drink while she watches events unfold, the other firmly biting his tongue even as he bounces from foot to foot, two seconds away from jumping in. 

“Isn’t that something you should figure out for yourself?” You brush his hand away, brows knitting ever so slightly as your nose wrinkles. ‘Kyle’ is trying to tangle your fingers in his, and you press his hand firmly back into his chest, extricating yourself from his grip. 

‘Kyle’ grins, roguish and charming and Atsumu can’t really fault you for whatever your past is with this man; double polo aside, he’s a good-looking guy. It pains him a little to admit it, and he’ll swear up and down that he’s the better looking of the two, but he gets – for a moment – how lacrosse boys pull girls. “C’mon, babe. If I’m not a fuckboy what am I?”

“You really wanna be one that bad, huh?” Your brows shift up a little, a little huff of amusement escaping you as you shift your weight onto your hip. “I don’t know? You’re embarrassing, I guess?”

It takes a moment to register, realization dawning from the bottom up as ‘Kyle’s’ mouth drops open into a little ‘o’, his brow furrowing as he slowly chugs your words through his Natty Light addled brain. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, you’re way too insecure to be a fuckboy,” you continue, that same light tone to your voice. It’s calm, neutral, like you’re discussing the weather and not absolutely destroying whatever confidence the man in front of you has. “You have this idea that confidence means being the loudest, most liked guy in the room, so nobody can tell how worried you are about your actual personality and that ain’t it for me. It just gives me…really bad second-hand embarrassment.”

“You’re a real bitch, yanno?” ‘Kyle’ manages to sputter after a while, jerking back like you’ve burned him (in reality, Atsumu thinks, you’ve probably decimated this man’s ego to the point of no return). He’s sneering now, unleashing verbal vitriol about your appearance, your hobbies, your performance in bed, and throughout it all you’re just calmly sipping at your drink, barely even batting an eye even as the tirade begins to draw other people’s attention.

“You’re entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to mine,” you say when he’d done, your face still flat, your voice still light and deadpan and Atsumu swears he can see steam seeping out ‘Kyle’s’ ears even as he’s convinced that he’s falling in love. “Mine just happens to be more accurate than yours.”

“C’mon, bud.” Atsumu finally slaps that heavy hand on lacrosse boy’s shoulder, a serene smile that doesn’t reach his eyes plastered onto his face as he looms over the other man. “You should probably be headin’ out now, don’tcha think?” 

He ushers him out with a little help from his teammates, Bokuto’s broad chest leaving no room for argument as they none-too-gently push him out the door and down the steps. He figures Bo has it handled, and he goes ambling back to where you are, or _were_ , heart and dick fluttering as he thinks about how stupidly hot that was. He’s almost a little irked that you aren’t still waiting there for him. He also secretly loves it, tickled pink at the thought of chasing after you. He finds you by one of the many kegs they’ve set up, laughing as you fill your cups and your friend pumps. 

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself, I fucking _swear_ —"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ami,” you say with a sparkle in your eye, a complete 180 from the aloof expression on your face before as you pass a cup to your other friend; Kyo nods in thanks.

“Yes, you _do_ ,” she says with a snort, pursing her lips as she flips her hair out of her way. “All I have to do is tell you I think a guy looks like a douchebag, and that’s the one you go for.”

“Yeah, you’re twisted,” Kyo says, chugging the beer like it’s the only thing he’s had all day. He hands it back wordlessly towards you, ignoring the glare Ami’s giving him. “All I gotta do is figure out who the biggest asshole in the room is and—”

“Alright, I think I get it,” you say with a wrinkle of your nose, handing Kyo another filled cup. “I have horrible taste in men.”

“Not horrible, just predictable—” Kyo almost chokes on his drink when he sees Atsumu lounging in the doorway, easily towering over everyone else stuffed inside the room. Partygoers jostle around him to ladle radioactive coloured jungle juice into their cups or pour sloppy shots of cheap liquor by the kitchen counter, but he barely notices as Atsumu shoots your group a friendly smile. “Here comes one now,” Kyo mutters, and you peek at the tall, undeniably handsome man in your peripheral. 

He’s not wrong. The broad set of his shoulders and chest are evident in the way the fabric of his shirt drapes over it, soft cotton laying on each line of his body like an eager lover’s caress. Even the looser cut of his pants can’t hide the firm build of his thighs, nor the curve of his ass when he turns to talk to someone, his pale blonde hair flopping in front of his face before he pushes it back. The chain glimmering around his neck is what seals it; the final nail in the coffin containing your predictability. He looks like an asshole: you can see it in the puff of his chest, the jut of his chin, the easy smirk that seems to live on his face. Your friends can see it in your expression, can see your interest pique in the arch of your eyebrows and the way you suck your lower lip into your mouth. Atsumu can see it too, preening under the observation, standing a little taller, puffing his chest out a little more, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows before crossing his arms to really make his corded forearms and biceps pop. 

What he doesn’t see is the way your face eventually flattens out, the easy way you shrug your shoulders, and the quiet, “Good thing I’ve learned my lesson” you say to your friends. He approaches you easily, casually, catching your eye and winking when you look his way. All you do is arch an eyebrow and look away, and he’s hooked even more. He strolls over when you take another sip of your beer and wince, and he taps his cup against yours.

Atsumu flashes you a smile. “Hi. Lemme get you a drink.”

You stare down at the flat beer sitting inside your cup, swirling it a little to try and resurrect what little carbonation is left. “I have a drink, thanks.”

“Nah, none of that garbage; lemme get you a _real_ drink.”

You look at him, eyes narrowing slightly even as a faint smile crosses your face. He’s too smitten to realize it’s guarded as can be. He thinks he’s swimming in the ocean, when in reality he’s splashing in a puddle. “Let me guess…all the good booze is hidden somewhere upstairs, huh?”

His smile grows wider, and he can feel more than see the eye roll Ami does as he tilts his head to the side at an angle he knows does wonders at showing off his jaw. “You read my mind.”

“Okay.” You jab a finger into his chest and push him back a step, your hand darting away before he can grab at it. He barely registers the snort Kyo hides in his beer, doesn’t realize you’re giving him the same treatment as the lacrosse boy from earlier. What he _does_ notice is the slight jump of your eyebrows when you feel just how firm he is under that soft shirt, the way your finger lingers just a little bit before curling away. His smile, if possible, grows smugger. “I don’t know what part of this _riveting_ conversation is telling you to make a move, but I’m—"

“Don’t be like that.” He hooks a thumb into the pocket of his pants and rolls his shoulders back, just to watch you watch him. “I saw what you did earlier and I’m not like that guy—”

“Oh, so you weren’t just waiting on the sidelines to sweep in and say something stupid like, ‘how about you lose the zero and get with the hero’?”

Atsumu laughs a little, just a short, husky chuckle because when he’d managed to collect his thoughts while watching you verbally eviscerate your poor victim, he had considered sweeping in to save the day. Whether or not he’d intended on using that exact pick-up line was a secret he’d take to the grave. “You’re sayin’ it wouldn’t have worked?”

Your lips quirk up just a bit, crinkling the corner of your eyes and it’s just like the early morning sun, the promise of warmth and light peeking over the horizon when Kyo steps in front of you, the apples of his cheek bright pink. “That’s exactly what she’s saying. Get a clue and leave her alone!” 

Almost protectively Ami wraps her arm around you and pulls you away, saying something about ‘going somewhere else’ and being proud of you for ‘actually resisting another douchebag’ (which makes Atsumu roll his eyes internally just a little bit); it doesn’t matter that your friends are hissing and spitting like alley cats, because he sees the way you look back at him, waging whatever internal war you’re in the middle of clear across your face. He smiles, winks cheesy and cheeky at you, and calls out, “Name’s Atsumu, by the way.”

“They don’t care!” Ami calls back at him, but he sees you filing the information away for later, can almost hear you rolling it around on your tongue. Oh well. Maybe he’ll find you later.

The night proceeds as usual: he plays beer pong, plays flip cup, dances a little, joins Suna and ‘Samu outside for a smoke, gets a couple numbers, flirts with his beer pong partner (losing against Oikawa _terribly_ the whole while, but when you’ve got a pretty girl pressing her tits up against your arm you don’t really care), and narrowly dodges her vomiting all over his shoes when the game is said and done. 

He’s stepping around a couple sloppily grinding against the wall when he spots you talking to someone, your friends nowhere to be seen. It’s easy enough to slide beside you when he knows the guy you’re talking to, slapping hands and talking about the last game. 

“Hey man, you want another beer?” Atsumu gestures towards the empty cup Josh is holding, and it’s almost too easy when Josh’s face perks up to slap a hand on his back, pass him _Atsumu’s own_ empty cup, and go, “Sick. Keg’s just over there.”

When Josh – confused and annoyed, but not that surprised – is gone Atsumu rounds back towards you, and you’re looking at him with that same arched eyebrow and sliver of a smile he’s been getting from you all night. 

“Wow,” you say, crossing your arms. “That was uh…”

“Impressive?” Osamu just happens to pass by and Atsumu easily lifts the full cup of beer from his twin’s fingers, ignoring the unsubtle jab to his ribs. 

You tap your fingers against your lips, and he watches, fascinated. “Obnoxious.”

“You don’t mean that.” When you shift a little to the side he follows you, relishes the way your pupils dilate momentarily under the dim light and the way you contemplate him, look him up and down with your cup propped right below your bottom lip. He might write an ode to solo cups for his next Lit class; he’s feeling pretty poetic about how bad he wants to bite your lip right now. “You’re gonna make me chase you all night?”

“Isn’t that your thing?” The cup, to his dismay, descends after you take a long sip.

“My thing?”

“Yeah. Your _thing_.” You gesture at him and disguise another peek at his body under a thin veneer of indifference. “Going after someone you can’t have because it’s fun and exciting, but the minute you get what you want suddenly you’re bored, right?”

“Darlin’, you’re makin’ me out like I’m some kinda fuckboy—”

“Ooh, ‘ _darlin’_ ’.” He can’t help but grin at the way you imitate his accent, the extra twang you give it. “We’re already doing pet names, huh? And you’re trying to tell me you _aren’t_ a fuckboy?”

Atsumu leans forward as you lean back, blocking you from the rest of the party with the wide set of his shoulders as he all but braces an arm against the wall above your head. “Aren’t you interested in guys like that? I overheard it’s your M.O.—”

“ _Was_. Was my M.O. I don’t do that anymore.”

“C’mon.” It’s his turn to eye you up and down, to elicit a shiver down your spine as heat throbs slow and steady in your belly. “You’ve been eye-fuckin’ me all night; don’t lie. I’m just askin’ for one drink before your guard dogs come back.”

“Insulting my friends while hitting on me.” You nod slowly, standing a little taller as your eyes narrow. “Nice. You know, they’re just trying to look out for me.” 

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Atsumu watches as your lashes flutter, as if you’ve only just realized how close your faces are to each other. He can feel you exhale a shaky breath through your mouth and he wants to breathe it in; wants to taste how sweet you are on his tongue. “I get it; they’re tryna keep you from makin’ bad decisions. Keep you from bein’ a bad girl.”

“A bad girl?” You laugh softly, finally cracking that stony exterior. He soaks in the sound of the giggles spilling from you mouth, his inward twinge of embarrassment worth the way your eyes crinkle shut. “I didn’t realize you were that cheesy.”

“Not into that, huh?” He leans forward until his nose grazes against yours, giving into the trope and pressing a firm forearm onto the wall beside your head. “Lemme get you upstairs and we talk about the things you like.” 

He can see you wavering, the heated flicker in your eyes as you arch up a little into his body. 

“One drink,” he promises. Distantly he hears Josh’s voice, and someone else that sounds vaguely like Ami; a quick glance confirms that yes, they are both walking your way, trying to squeeze through the crowd and talking to each other about something – probably you, and who you were left alone with, if he’s reading the pissed look on Ami’s face correctly. “Last chance.”

“…last chance _what_?” You shoot him a cheeky grin, and he chuckles, low and deliciously warm as he takes your hand in his.

“Last chance, _darlin’_.” 

It’s like he’s spoken a magic spell; you let him lead you away, let him tuck his calloused fingers between your own, his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand as he pulls you through the house. There are a few winks and jeers from his friends as he passes them, but once the two of you duck past the rookie guarding the upper floors and enter Ginjima’s room, everything grows quiet. The steady thud of the bass is throbbing through the floor, but the chatter and laughter are muted; the joys of a three-storey house, he supposes. 

Atsumu motions you towards the bed and makes quick work of rummaging through the mini fridge in the room, making a triumphant exclamation as he pulls out bottles of Jameson and silver Tromba, waggling them at you.

You scooch back on the bed until you’re resting against the wall. “What’re you making me?”

“Miya specialty,” he promises with a sly wink, grabbing two beers and handing one to you. “You want a shot of whiskey, or a shot of tequila?”

The sheer audacity punches a laugh out of you, but you’re not one to turn down a free drink especially with company like this, so you obligingly down the rest of the flat beer and ask for tequila. 

“Cheers,” you murmur, tapping your cup against his once he settles on the bed, splaying out perpendicular to you and wriggling his long legs under yours as if he does this every day.

“Cheers.” The liquor almost goes up Atsumu’s nose when he drinks, but he supposes that’s a fair hazard given he’s trying to drink while lying down. Shots downed, beers opened, he starts jostling his legs and grousing until you shift up the bed towards him, nearly in his lap before he declares that you can settle down.

You’re tapping your fingers along the beer bottle as you look at him, ignoring, for the moment, the way his fingers are grazing along your thigh, just above your knee. It feels vaguely ticklish, a sensation soon forgotten when his fingers slide upwards and make your stomach swoop. “So, why me?”

Atsumu peels his eyes away from the fascinating path his hand his forging up your leg. “Hm?” 

“Quit trying to act cute,” you say sternly, and he can’t help but think the furrow between your brows is kind of endearing. “I saw you flirting your way through half the party—”

“Were you jealous?” He raises his eyebrows and grins madly, still looking unfairly handsome even with the ghost of a double chin given his current angle. “We’re gonna hafta have a talk about this—”

“ _Atsumu_.” Once he quiets you nod at him. “Tell me. Why me?”

“You’re interestin’.” His hand trails a little higher, testing the waters. He’s doing a little dance inside when you don’t stop him. “You’ve got a mouth on ya.”

“Uh-huh. And you’re, what, into getting talked down to?”

“No, no. Unless…” At his eyebrow waggle you roll your eyes and gently pinch the back of his wrist, snickering at the feigned pout he gives you. “It’s different, y’know. You’re not like—”

What he _wants_ to say is “you’re not like other girls”, but he can vaguely remember somebody (probably Kita) explaining over and over again that this is the worst possibly thing he can say. There was something else thrown in about feminism, destroying the gender binary, and the implications behind how it implies things viewed as feminine or girly are somehow vapid or not worth perusing, but to be honest he’d been cross-faded off his ass at the time and he barely remembered anything beyond the worst case of dry mouth he’d ever had. 

It’s like you can smell it on him, the impending fuck up. Your eyes flash a little, face shifting towards that eerily calm expression you’d had when you were talking to ‘Kyle’. “I’m not like what?”

He gnaws on his lower lip and contemplates how to get out of this alive. “Nah…that’s a trap. I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean?” Your voice is still even, though the tiniest trace of annoyance has started to edge its way in.

Atsumu pushes his hair back as he thinks, his nails scratching soothingly at his scalp. Osamu likes to joke he does that before thinking because he has to get the blood flowin’ up there, and he stops the motion while scowling, purely out of spite towards his twin. “You’re not throwin’ yourself at me, for starters.”

“Because you’d hate it _so much_ if I did, right?” You wiggle your legs around in his lap just to prove a point and he clamps his hand down on your knee, squeezing until you squeal and kick it off. 

“Hey, if you’re offerin’.” You roll your eyes as his cheek, but you don’t bother moving away, so he considers it a win. “It’s kinda nice havin’ someone call me out on my shit.”

“Yeah. It really doesn’t seem like people do that enough.”

“ _Easy_. I’m lookin’ for banter, not a beatdown.”

You lean a little closer to him, letting your shoulders drift along the wall as your eyes sparkle. “A _beatdown_? Are we going to start finger snapping while we walk? Are you gonna comb back your hair? Should I call you ‘daddio’?” He opens his mouth and you abruptly switch gears, pointing at him. “Don’t say it.” 

“You’re the one that said it, doll.”

“ _Doll_? What happened to _darlin’_?” The fish-mouthed look you have on your face is just too much for him, and he relishes in the way your amusement blooms, soft and warm in the flutter of your eyes.

“Not a fan? ‘S fine I can call ya somethin’ else.” Atsumu settles back into the bed, snuggling deeper into the pillows just to prod at you with his hand. “Quit buggin’”

“I’m not _buggin’_.”

“Sure you are. I can see ya gettin’ all in your head, like how you were convincin’ yourself I’m a fuckboy—”

“You _are_ a fuckboy.”

“And Kyle isn’t?”

“Kyle…?” It takes you a moment, takes you another few inches down the wall until you’re lying on your side, propped up on your arm and so deliciously close to lying down beside him. He almost wants to suggest you do – for your sake of course since he can’t imagine you’re comfortable sitting like that. “That’s not his name!”

“I don’t care about his name, I care about yours.”

Your nose wrinkles and you mutter that he’s cheesy again under your breath, but from this angle he has a pretty good view of your chest, so he’s not too bothered by it. You tell him, and he’s only 80% distracted by your shirt’s dipping neckline when he says, “Pretty.”

“Oh, please.”

“What?” Atsumu looks back up at you, cool as a cucumber. “I can’t tell the truth?”

“We both know it’s just a ploy.”

“A ploy? That’s a pretty big accusation.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, and nods at you. “What am I ‘ployin’’ at then?”

“You know.”

“’Fraid I don’t. Didn’t you know all jocks are dumb as a pile of bricks? Figured Kyle woulda made it clear.” He knocks his hand lightly against his head, then folds his hands on his chest, his beer bottle nestled between them. “Spell it out for me.”

“Okay, I will.” You swing your legs around until you’re lying on your stomach, and Atsumu is positively entranced by the way it does nothing to maintain the integrity of your shirt, but everything to frame the way your tits are pressed against the mattress. “The flirting, the pet names, bringing me up here to a room I’m pretty sure isn’t yours…you’re looking to score.”

“I’m _wounded_ ,” he says, basking in the revelation that he knows the colour of your bra.

“How many condoms do you have in your wallet right now?”

“Just one.” You shoot him a look and he holds up a finger. “ _Just_ in case. It’s not like that was the mission tonight or anythin’.”

“Mmhm. Sure.” You purse your lips to hide your smile, your teeth catching your lower lip when that fails to keep it at bay. “You know keeping condoms in your wallet breaks them down faster, right?”

He jerks up a little, looking at you a little wild-eyed as he processes your words. “No shit?” He props himself up on his elbows and slaps a heavy hand against the nightstand beside him, winking as he says, “Good thing I know where Gin keeps ‘em. Just in case you wanted to…yanno.”

“In case _I_ wanted to? Mm, so sneaking me up here was for my benefit?”

“Like I said before. You. Me. Eye-fuckin’.” He downs the rest of his beer and sets the bottle on the nightstand, just so he can roll onto his side and look at you better. “We could do more than that if you’re interested.”

“If _I’m_ interested.” You take a moment, sucking on your teeth as you consider him. Atsumu doesn’t even try to sway your mind, just lies there with this look on his face that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. If you’re being honest, he probably does. Hell, you wouldn’t have entertained the thought of going upstairs with him otherwise. Ari and Kyo are going to have a field day with this when they find out, another hungover breakfast commiserating your weak will and repeated mistakes, but you’re determined. This isn’t going to turn into another pity fest, drowning in vodka sodas and wondering why so-and-so hadn’t texted you back yet. No more late night puffy-eyed Instagram stalking, no more nervously eyeing your phone with your heart in your throat. Just sex, plain and simple. “Okay fine.”

The smile on his face is blinding. “Great.” He sits up when you do, only for you to press a firm hand to his chest and push him back down 

“You’re bossy, ain’tcha?” he purrs as you move to straddle him, splaying your fingers across his chest. “Don’t get me wrong, I got nothin’ against—”

You slap a hand over his mouth, bending forwards and giving him another excellent look down your top. “Do you ever stop talking?”

His shit-eating grin is masked, and his voice is muffled, but you still make out, “I thought people liked feedback.”

“Yeah, feedback, not hosting your own running commentary like you’re close-captioning a porno.”

“My bad,” he says as he pulls your hand away and surges up for a kiss.

His mouth works wonders against yours, hot, needy, and a little sloppy. He tastes like beer, but it doesn’t stop you from letting his tongue tangle with yours. He licks and sucks his way into your mouth, drawing needy moans from you that make his hips grind relentlessly against your own. He has an iron grip on your hips, rocking you back and forth across his thickening cock, his fingers squeezing tight with each breathy gasp that escapes you.

“Fuck—” Your hands untwist from his shirt and slip underneath the hem, sliding up and following the divots and dips of his abdomen. You can feel each flex of his muscles when you grind your hips down on him, your wrists catching his shirt and dragging it upwards as you greedily reach for more skin. He’s hot to the touch, to the taste, his lips searing a path along the column on your throat down towards your collarbone, his tongue licking the way back up to bite gently along your jaw. “Take this off.”

He obliges, whipping his shirt off and returning his hands to your hips, pupils blown wide when he realizes you’ve shed your top too, and are in the middle of unfastening your bra. 

“ _So_ fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts and making you shiver. His fingers press and knead along the sensitive flesh to trace along your nipples. He sits up abruptly, forcing you to slide back on his cock, making you moan and throw your head back and giving him perfect access to your chest as he sucks a breast into his mouth. His mouth feels hot on your nipple, his tongue sliding lewd patterns along the pebbled flesh that make you squirm and make him groan as he starts bouncing you up and down, an appetizer to what’s to come. 

He moves to your other tit as his free hand moves to cup your cunt, his middle finger digging into the seam of your pants to press insistently against the seam of your cunt. His hand is heavy, possessive, trying to fingerfuck you through two layers of fabric with a determination that makes your pussy clench. 

“Take ‘em off,” he growls, punctuating the demand with a harsh suck. 

You stand on wobbly legs and shimmy them down as he watches, his own pants joining yours on the floor, him eyeing the apex of your thighs greedily as he hooks his thumbs into his boxer briefs and pulls them down, his cock springing free. You forget to completely undress yourself, mouth watering at the thickness of his dick, the way it looks to pretty and tan, the tip shiny with pre-cum. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” you breathe and he laughs, slipping a finger into the front of your panties and dragging them down, his knuckle nudging along your clit on its way down and making your knees buckle. Once you kick off the soaked fabric he slides down the bed and gestures at his kiss-bitten lips, eyes twinkling.

“Take a seat.” You scramble to situate yourself above him, hovering just out of reach, not sure if he _really_ means for you to—

When you linger too long he grabs you and drags your cunt to his face, tongue licking a broad stripe up your slit that makes you quiver and cry out, your hands slamming into the wall. Atsumu barely gives you time to relax, shakes his head back and forth like a dog as he moans, voice cracked and dirty, his tongue swirling through your juices and along your lips, sucking and flicking just to see what makes you squirm. By the time he seals his mouth around your clit to lave his tongue along it you’re sure you’ve soaked his face and the pillow below him. You body feels tight and hot, one of your hands grabbing at your breasts and pinching a nipple, sending a thrill racing through you straight to the bundle of nerves Atsumu is sucking on.

A hand slaps your ass and you jerk upwards, just enough space for him to wiggle a hand under your cunt, a thick finger toying with your fluttering hole. 

“Tastes like heaven,” he mumbles, eyes glazed as you shift your hips a little higher, trying to entice him to sink knuckle deep into your needy pussy. All he does it trace his fingertip along the outside of your entrance, dipping in before pulling back out, groaning at the way your walls try to clench around his finger and pull it in. “So fuckin’ sloppy.”

“Are you going to fuck me or what?” you grind out, heat prickling in your cheeks. Every sway of your hips down has him darting away, and the desperate aching need into you is doing nothing but fueling your irritation. 

“Kinda want you to beg for it,” he says offhandedly, and you bristle.

“Atsumu, I will leave and fuck myself at home instead—”

“But then you’re gonna miss out on this.” Atsumu’s arm moves and the mattress shifts, but what really draws your attention is the slap of skin on skin. You peek over your shoulder and swear you get wetter, gushing more around the finger still dragging along your pussy lips as you watch him pull his cock down with his thumb, releasing it just for it to slap hard and drooling up against his belly. “Shit you’re soakin’ now. You’re just dyin’ for a good fuck, aren’tcha.” 

He moves your jelly limbs, ignores your yelps and protests, swings you around until you’re facing his pretty cock, braced on all fours as he hums and laps at your quivering hole some more until you’re canting your hips back towards him.

“C’mon,” he goads, that damn finger teasing at you some more, pushing in just enough to build the itch, not soothe it. “Work for it.”

He’s lazily pumping his dick, squeezing precum out the tip, stopping at the base to tease at his heavy balls as his hips shift a little restlessly. It’s intimidating up close, to say the least, to see how even engulfed in his hand it still is clearly larger than average, his thumb slicking precum along the flared edge of the head, his wrist flicking to slap it against his abdomen as he groans. “Do you wanna lick it or what—”

You engulf the tip in your mouth and his voice trails off into a long hiss, his hand faltering as you suck and lick and return the teasing from earlier. You move off to the very tip, letting his cock slip free to slap heavy on his body again as you trail your tongue from tip to base, following the vein that weaves around his shaft. You stop lapping at his balls long enough to shoot, “I think you owe me something” over your shoulder, your core clenching at the way his laugh is rough, growled, rumbling through his chest.

“Guess I do.” He slides a finger into you, three knuckles deep, crooked to graze the spongy tissue on the roof of your pussy, pushes deep enough to nudge something _else_ that has you almost dropping your face directly onto his cock as you gasp. He slowly pulls it out, hitting every wonderful, glorious nerve on the way. “Thought you were workin’ for it.”

Atsumu’s voice is wound tight, and his cock drools another drop of precum that you quickly lap up. You moan around his cock, feeling the slide of it along your tongue, feeling it fill your mouth and nudge at the back of your throat as he fucks you open with his fingers. His tongue kitten licks at your clit when he pushes a third finger in, spreading your pussy to watch the way it's drooling for him. It’s a gentle back and forth rocking: you pushing back onto his hand, him pushing you further onto his cock, the tight coil in your belly growing and growing with each vibrating hum he lets out, his abs tensing and releasing with each moan you let roll out around his dick. 

It takes a moment, but then the head slips down your throat, your eyes watering as you hold and wriggle at the sinful “ _Mm fuck_ —” he lets out, his fingers twisting and pressing ruthlessly at that spot inside you that makes your brain feel like goo. 

Your body tenses, his cock slipping from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut, cheek pressing flat against his hip as you quiver and choke on air, gasping and jerking your hips back against his hand. “A-Atsumu I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, darlin’, c’mon, let me feel this little pussy squeeze— _yeah_ that’s it,” he says, voice like honey as you clamp around his fingers and shake, the gush of slick wetness he’s pulling out with each press of his hand making you squirm. By the time you come down you’re embarrassed to note you’ve drooled a little on him, your spit trailing down to mix with the tiny puddle of precum under the head of his cock. You hear a drawer opening and closing, hear the crinkling foil as if it’s a mile away. “Turn around. Let me fuck you stupid now.”

His voice is hoarse, but he doesn’t look as wrecked as he sounds, his eyes dark and determined as you fumble to face him, watching him roll the condom down onto his cock, sliding one hand down tip to base, then the other, then back again, hips rising and falling off the bed as he fucks into his hand, tongue peeking out between his teeth as he watches you move your pussy closer. 

“Don’t let this get to your head,” you manage to rasp out, grabbing the base of his cock with a firm hand that makes his eyes flutter a little, “but you’re bigger than what I’m used to.”

You already know the first part of what you said has gone in one ear and out the other with the way his face lights up, the way he tweaks at your nipples with still damp fingers. “Think you can take it? Think you can let me stuff this little pussy full?”

The fire that rekindles in your belly hits like a lightening strike, your hips twitching closer to his even as you try to shoot him your best stink-eye. “Fuckin’ gag me.”

“Maybe later.”

Vindictively, you swipe the head of his cock along your pussy, gathering the slick wetness there in an effort to ease the process of such a daunting task. It has the added benefit of shutting him up, and the feel of him hot and hard rubbing along your clit, sending heat skittering down your spine. Taking in a deep breath you try to relax yourself, press the tip to your entrance and slowly, slowly sink down onto it. The stretch is wonderful; nothing but the staggering feeling of the press of his cock spreading you open, filling you completely. Your mouth falls open of its own accord, your eyebrows screwing up. Atsumu would think you were in pain if it wasn’t for the insistent little bounce of your hips, pressing him deeper and deeper with each passing moment, and the exquisite whine of his name, choked off as soon as he bottoms out.

You’re _tight_ , and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you this, his hands bruising your thighs as he squeezes hard, thumbs digging into tender flesh as he grinds his teeth and waits for you to adjust. It doesn’t take long, your brain already addled and focused on nothing but the slide of his thick cock in and out of you. You’re grinding your hips, rocking them, swinging them side to side, barely even cognizant of the slight burn in your legs as you rut desperately against him. 

“S-shit, you feel good?” His thumb brushes along your clit and you shudder, your walls pulsing around him.

“Yeah—”

“ _Yeah_?” Atsumu can’t help the snap of his hips, can’t help grabbing you and pulling you against his chest, arms wrapping around you as he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into you, the steady slapping of your hips making him grunt as he hears you whimpering and moaning into his ear. He captures your lips in a needy kiss, tugging roughly on your bottom lip with his teeth when he feels your nails digging into his shoulders. Your body is tensing again, your voice pitching higher and higher as he fucks you harder, faster, deeper. “You gonna cum again? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Atsumu, I— _god_.” You look a little embarrassed at the way you nearly sob into his shoulder, sweat sticking your hair and his chain to your face, your eyes struggling to stay open. You look like you’re about to drool again as he pounds into you, a hand winding into your hair to pull your face back, forcing you to look at him.

“Answer me, darlin’. You can do it; let me know how bad you want this sweet little pussy to cum while I’m fuckin’ you.” He bites at his own lip, fights the steady push towards his own orgasm as you struggle to answer him. He spanks you when you don’t, the swift crack of his hand against your ass and the way you squeal almost making him cum. “ _Answer me_.”

“ _Please_ I want to—” You shudder and try to bury your face into his shoulder, but the sting in your scalp keeps you from doing so. “I wanna cum—” 

You’re trying to meet him thrust for thrust, doing your best to grind your poor, neglected clit against his pelvis when he stops suddenly and lets you go, leaving you bewildered and needy as he pushes you up and off him. He keeps pushing you, pressing you back until you’re bracing your hands on his thighs, feeling the muscle flex beneath your touch as you scrape them with your nails.

“Ride me.” Atsumu props another pillow under his head, settles his hands into the meat of your ass, thumbs stroking along your hipbones as you stare blankly at him. “Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock until you cum.”

You can’t even attempt to give him a withering glare; the timbre of his voice, the way his eyes are raking all over your body leave nothing but desire running through your veins. The faint sheen of sweat on his torso glistens with each breath he takes, the way his chest rises and expands with each inhalation making you realize just how big this man was. 

It takes a second for you to get into a rhythm; your hands are shaky, your legs are shaky, hell your whole body is still recovering from earlier. Before long you’ve settled into one nicely, swirling your hips in a circle, feeling the head of his dick catch on the spongy tissue in your pussy with each thrust in and out. 

“Fuck me, look at that view.” Atsumu’s eyes are trained on the sight of his fat cock stretching you open, mesmerized with the way it slides so easily into your eager body. Each time it slips out it feels like your pussy is begging it not to go, squeezing and clinging as hard as it can. Your breathy whimpers start getting louder, your head lolling from side to side as you watch him watch you, fueling the need simmering in your belly. The way he swears under his breath has you clenching around him, the squeeze of his hands on your ass making your eyes roll back. He starts spanking you again, each stinging hit arriving at random, accompanied with the pure filth spilling from his mouth. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuck look at you, you’re drippin’ all over me.”

Your entire body feels too hot, almost too full, and there’s a underlying feeling of something _different_ under the needy ache that keeps building and building with each downward swing of your hips. It feels too good to stop, but too strange to continue and your shaking arms give up as you sheathe yourself on his cock one more time, ripping a groan of your name from Atsumu. “I gotta— I gotta take a second; I think I need to— it feels _weird_ —”

If you’d been looking at him, you would’ve seen the positively feral look that crossed his face. As it was, all you feel is the twitch of his cock inside you as he takes in a deep, slow breath, and tries to bring himself down as he sits up. His hands slide up along your sides, cupping the sensitive underside of your breasts. “D’you trust me?”

Breathless and sweaty, you squint disbelievingly at him through the haze occupying your mind. “I just _met you_ —”

“Just let me…just trust me for a sec,” is what he says, but the insistent way he’s still humping into you is what makes up your mind. When you nod, he moves quickly, slipping out to your groan of disappointment and standing to spread you out on the bed. He grabs your waist and yanks you to the edge of the mattress, butterflying your knees and leaving you wide open for him. His eyes can’t stop bouncing across your body, the way your nipples are still stiff prompting a lascivious lick from him. He grabs his cock with one hand and taps it, firm and warm on your pussy, prompting a whine from you as your back arches. He can’t help but indulge a little, chuckling as he swipes it back and forth, making even more of a mess down there than there already is.

Satisfied for the time being, Atsumu curls his fingers into you with the other hand, stroking himself rhythmically as he pushes you back up to your peak, your hands grabbing at his wrist as if you want to push him away even as you grind more insistently down onto the stretch. His fingers curl inside you and you can feel it again, that same strange pressure building and building as he fucks into your g-spot again and again, the slick sound of him fucking his hand weaving through the wet squelch of your pussy. His thumb flicks insistently across your clit, bursts of pleasure radiating through your body as you inch higher.

“C’mon, let go.” He can see you tensing, see you trying to fight the rising tide, and he steps forward until you can feel the brush of his knuckles along your thigh as he jerks himself off. “Make a mess for me.”

Something snaps, your eyes squeezing shut as tears slide down your face, your neck stretched taut as you wail out Atsumu’s name, babbling out a litany of curses and praises as your entire body bows off the bed and you squirt all over his hand. He’s still fucking you through it, his other hand flat on your thigh to keep you spread as he watches you _gushing_ around him, growling out how good you look, how wet you are, how good you’re gonna feel wrapped around him.

Without waiting for you to come down Atsumu slams back into you, bracing his hands on either side of your head, chain dangling down towards your neck and swaying with each rocking undulation of his hips. The bed is protesting loudly, and fleetingly he wonders if they can hear it downstairs over the music. Gin is already going to murder him for the state of his mattress, but Atsumu simply does not give a fuck when you wind shaky fingers into his chain and tug firmly, dragging him down into a clumsy kiss that’s mostly open-mouthed pants and him sucking hungrily on your tongue. 

“’M gonna cum,” he grinds out, trying to fuck deeper into you. You’re starting to curl up from overstimulation, each slap of his hips dragging like a knife’s edge along your clit, but the sight of him so close, the feel of him solid and hot against you had you pushing through it. “’M gonna fill you up—”

“Yeah, do it. Cum inside me—let me feel it—”

Atsumu has to brace a knee on the mattress, the snapping of his hips pushing you up and up and up the mattress, head nearly knocking the wall as the wet smacking rises to a crescendo and then he tenses, slamming a fist into the wall as he lets out the deepest, loudest, _dirtiest_ groan of ‘ _fuuuuuck yes_ ’, hips twitching in and out as he rides out his climax.

True to form, he just flops down on top of you, heavy and sweaty, but it’s comforting. He almost feels little bit like a weighted blanket which you tell him, feeling him laugh slurred and sleepy against you. Eventually he has to pull out, has to dispose of the condom, has to hand you what turns out to be a t-shirt that definitely isn’t his to clean up with. He just shrugs when you point this out, cleaning you up himself when you don’t do it and tossing it in the overflowing laundry basket. “Gin owes me,” is all he says, pulling on his underwear.

When you move to dress he flops onto the bed again, pulling you down with him. “You wanna give me your number now?”

Your eyeroll is beautiful; holds enough exasperation to last him the rest of the night, he thinks. “Why, so you can just ghost me later?”

“I wouldn’t do that to ya.” He smacks a gentle hand to the top of your pussy, grinning when you yelp and squeeze your legs together. “You think I’m lettin’ this walk away from me?”

“Don’t tell me that actually works on girls,” you groan, pushing his arm off and slipping off the sheets. Your clothes are easy enough to find scattered about the room, but right before you slip your panties on Atsumu snags them, holding them above his head.

“Gimme your number and I’ll give ‘em back to you.” He has a stupidly adorable mischievous grin on his lips as he dangles the garment in the air, and you can’t help the small grin of your own that plays at the corners of your lips.

“That’s coercion.”

“Negotiation,” he amends for you, twirling those long fingers until your underwear is scrunched up in a little ball in the palm of his hand. “Whaddaya say?”

“I don’t negotiate with fuckboys.” You stretch on your tiptoes, but he shifts them out of your reach, and you glare at him. Undaunted, he just smiles back. “Seriously, Atsumu. Give them back.”

“Guess there’s a first time for everythin’.” He slides a pointed look at the wet patch on the sheets, relishing in the way your shoulders creep towards your ears as embarrassment wraps its too tight grip around your chest. By the time you work past it he’s already at the door, tucking your delicates into his back pocket. “If you change your mind, y’know where to find me.”

Another wink and he’s gone, slipping out the door and back downstairs as you stand bewildered in the middle of the room, still pants-less, and _still_ panty-less. You quickly slam the door shut, thankful there weren’t any lingering guests in the hall and squirm into your pants, grumbling the entire time. Your phone screen is covered in notifications from Ami and Kyo when you check it and you heave a sigh, the flicker of a smile still hovering about your face as the seam of your pants brushes against your still sensitive core. Sure, you might’ve gone and done exactly what (and who) you weren’t supposed to, but hey. You were going to have a hell of a story to tell them tomorrow morning.

 _After_ you got your underwear back.

**Author's Note:**

> Pls kudos or comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @[chicoree](https://chicoree.tumblr.com/)


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